Dot’s face fell. “We forgot.”
Barbara felt for Abby, who knew better at her age. “Sorry, Mama.”
What must Mrs. Judge think of them? Willie might have led the charge, but this was his house and her sisters knew better than to behave like hooligans.
A few minutes later when Barbara glanced up from clearing the refreshment tray, Mr. Judge and Dad filled the doorway, their arms loaded with hardwood for the fire. Her father seemed to shrink inside the warm coat Mr. Judge had offered him. At least two sizes too big. Barbara wanted to laugh, but that would be silly, especially since she wore Betty’s clean work overalls from the factory. Tall and willowy to Betty’s short hourglass figure, Barbara had to make do as the legs rose up her calves, but Betty’s dress would have looked even funnier on her.
Her father traipsed to the hearth and stacked his load of wood neatly in the old coal scuttle that served as a wood bin. He brushed the stray pieces of bark onto his hand then into the fire.
Dad turned and stood tall. “Charles, you haven’t met this beautiful lady right here. My wife, Mary. We’re much obliged to all of you for your kindness. Especially you, Mrs. Judge. I know this means extra work for the mistress of the house.”
Mama blushed at Dad’s sweet words but Barbara sang inside. How wonderful after all this time to have your husband say you’re beautiful. Would Elliott think that of her after more than twenty years?
Mr. Judge rebuttoned his coat and gestured for Willie to follow him. “You get the home fires burning, Thomas, and William and I will go for the tree.”
“A tree?” Barbara said.
“We couldn’t have you sweet girls missing a visit from Santa, now could we?” Mrs. Judge grinned at Barbara.
Her sisters would be so disappointed to find a tree with no gifts. Even though they didn’t believe in Santa Claus, they were especially excited about Christmas.
Barbara’s thoughts drifted to the tortoiseshell combs she was certain waited in beautiful wrappings under the tree at home. She remembered staring in the window of Freidmans’ Department store in New Castle, begging her mother for them. There would be no presents this year. Not until they got home.
So no one else would notice, she whispered in her father’s ear, “Dad. What about...”
He nudged her. “We’re warm and safe.”
Betty tugged her hand. “Let’s take the girls into the parlor. We have red and green construction paper strips and glue all ready to be turned into a garland. That will keep their minds off their adventure for a while.”
The girls laughed as the chain stretched longer and longer. Barbara shook her head; the paper chain could circle the town. She stared at the empty space Betty said would house the tree. How beautiful the branches would be with tiny candles and garland covering top to bottom. And a star.
Barbara sat next to her mother and leaned her head against the comforting shoulder. “I hate for Dot to be let down. Abby will understand why there are no presents.”
Her mother stroked her head. “They aren’t babies anymore, Barbara. None of you are. Why, Dot’s almost eleven. We’ve always taught you girls Christmas is about Jesus.”
“I know.” Barbara gazed over her shoulder as if she could see her littlest sister in the morning, eyes heavy with disappointment. “We’ll have a wonderful Christmas when we get home.”
As the door burst open and a blast of chilly air whirled into the house, Barbara drew her sweater around her shoulders. A tall man drenched in rain and dirt trudged backward through the door, supporting the end of an evergreen with Mr. Judge and Willie lugging the top. The smell of pine immediately infused the air.
“You heave and I’ll ho,” shouted the mayor, laugh lines fanning from his eyes. “We’ll get it into the parlor, Jack. Pull. I’m not as young as I used to be, son.” His hearty laughter filled the room. “Come on, Willie, help me push this monster in. It must be all of nine feet tall.”
Mrs. Judge rushed before them, clearing the way to the parlor. “In here. That’s a beauty, isn’t it? Oh, Charles, you cut a dandy this year and in such bad weather. Or did you down it, son?”
The men set the tree on the floor. Without a single wobble from the base—perfect.
Barbara glanced over and for the first time realized who “son” was.
Jackson smiled, offered a small salute and another wink. He mouthed a silent I’m sorry.
After a long silence, she lifted her head but kept her hands tucked in her coverall pockets. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Judge. Salt of the earth, huh?”
Barbara swallowed hard.
Hair dangling in eyes that danced, Jackson grasped her hand, forcing her to be amiable. “I guess we did meet somewhere. Bunny, huh?” He glanced at Willie. “Like—”
“Don’t you dare.” She yanked her hand away.
“Jackson!” His mother’s voice echoed off the walls. “You should consider helping your father set the tree to rights and not be a tease.”
He bowed low. “See you, Miss Richardson. C’mon, sis. Let’s decorate this behemoth.” He worked his way toward Dot and Abigail, his charisma causing them to shuffle their feet. “Maybe Barbara’s sisters would like to join me.”
He chucked each of the girls under the chin and smiled that same cocky grin that had the breath trapped like a clogged drain in Barbara’s throat.
Abby blushed red as a Christmas bow, but Dot dashed past her, straight to the tree with Willie lollygagging behind. Barbara finally strolled to the love seat and sat on the edge where she watched her sisters help arrange the glass balls for the tree.
Abigail cried, “Whoever saw a glass peanut before?”
Willie’s ears turned red.
Giving in to the festivities, Barbara began looping strips of red and green ribbon through the ornaments’ clasps. As she handed them over, she couldn’t miss Jackson’s stare.
His eyes followed her every step. If this kept up, she’d need to have a word with him and make him stop the nonsense. She was practically a married woman.
* * *
Jackson couldn’t help but notice Barbara’s hearty appetite. Ham, sweet potatoes, creamed peas, biscuits with honey butter, apple pie and icy eggnog. Had she saved room for dessert?
She avoided eye contact, avoided him in general. So that was how she planned to play the game? Pretend he didn’t even exist? Well, he’d see about that.
After supper, they all struggled through the mud to attend Christmas Eve service. More than enjoyable, Barbara even found enough charity to smile at Jackson in a moment of weakness when the Baby Jesus jumped out of the manger and cried for his mama. Mary and Joseph chased the toddler the entire length of the aisle while the whole church rocked with laughter. But it was his “Mama, I wet!” that sent the parishioners over the top.
Jackson jumped from the pew and belly-laughed as he scooped the boy into his arms and returned him to Mary.
Barbara’s eyes took in the scene for so long that Jackson grew a bit uncomfortable with her scrutiny. Was the icy beauty thawing a little?
His heart hammered when her voice rose above everyone else’s during “Angels We Have Heard on High.” She sang like an angel.
Back at the house again, she crossed through the entrance ahead of her parents to cheers from Betty. What now? Betty never missed a chance to play a prank, usually on Jackson or Willie. Maybe he’d be lucky and she’d aim her antics at their visitor for a change.
Betty pointed up. “Look. You’re under the mistletoe, Barbara.” Then, she shoved Jackson from behind and her eyes lit up like Fourth of July sparklers. “Go on, Jack. Kiss her.”
His face warmed, but the idea didn’t exactly repulse him.
* * *
Barbara shrank inside her coat and stepped back, nearly toppling her mother. Oh, Betty, stop. Why, he barely knew her. She licked lips that had grown dry and looked around for an escape. To pass through to the other room, she had no choice but to cross under the mistletoe. Maybe if she sprinted for the stairs.
Wi
th the lightest touch above her elbows, his hands circled her arms. “Barbara, it looks like we’re trapped.” He chomped a piece of licorice-smelling gum.
Oh, no.
The scent of pine stuck to his clothes; flutters filled her stomach. A protest wouldn’t come to her lips once she looked into those coffee-brown eyes. What was happening to her? She actually wanted him to kiss her, and she closed her eyes anticipating warm lips.
Softer than silk, he pecked her on the forehead.
On the forehead?
Barbara’s eyes flew open.
Of course, she had no right to kiss anyone other than Elliott and even then...
Barbara kept her gaze leveled at Jackson. No more funny business.
She marched to the piano and launched into a rousing “Jingle Bells,” showing off her voice a bit more. Well, maybe a lot more.
After the singing, while everyone else finished the walnut cake Betty’s grandmother had baked, Barbara tugged a light sweater around her shoulders and strolled onto the porch. The cool air engulfed her. Stars, unbelievably bright, twinkled overhead and Barbara wondered. Could Elliott be enjoying the same starry night? Did he search for the Christmas star on Christmas Eve like she and her sisters did? Funny how many details she didn’t know about Elliott’s faith.
Friends from childhood, she and Elliott had fished together and climbed trees until he had discovered she was a girl. From young friends to an engaged couple.
But was that enough to base a relationship on? She sighed. There wasn’t a Mr. Rochester for every young Jane aspiring to theatrical romance. Few people she knew had a marriage like her parents. And if she didn’t love Elliott deeply at the moment, she would in time. He was the most eligible bachelor in town—a sensible match. When it came to marriage, it was good to be sensible, wasn’t it?
A balmy breath streamed past her ear. Without thinking she whispered, “El? Is that you?” Pirouetting on her heel, she half expected him to be there. The voice was different. Deeper. Warmer than Elliott’s. And the face more rugged than Elliott’s.
Jackson’s searching eyes reflected the sparkling stars. He fingered a stray lock on her forehead. “Your hair is lovely.”
“It is?” Her heart thumped against her ribs like a metronome set on presto. Her body fought every ounce of her good sense. Why did he affect her like this?
He leaned toward her, brushed his lips over her mouth and she found her own lips responding. They pulled away from each other.
He still fingered a strand of her hair, then said, “It would look lovely in combs like Grand’s.”
“What?”
* * *
“I mean.” Open mouth, insert a big boot.
Jackson’s hands circled her shoulders, steered her to look at him again. “Not that you look like Grand.”
She pulled back and stared. “Well I should hope not. She’s a lovely lady but—”
“But she’s older than Adam and Eve?” He grinned. “I meant you’d look lovely with combs in your hair. I’m...trying to pay you a compliment.”
His face grew hot, no doubt red as a Christmas apple. Pointing to the porch swing, he said, “Please sit down. I owe you more than one apology.”
She settled onto the cushion.
“I’ve started out on the wrong foot if truth be told.”
“Wrong foot?”
Holding up his hand, he shook his head and scrambled for the right words. “There’s little more I can say other than I’m truly sorry for everything today.”
“I could say the same. After seeing my clothes on the ground, I’m afraid I put you at the top of my list, as Mother calls it. And not a list you want to be on.”
“Heaven help me.” She softened ever so slightly and he pushed on. “You have a lovely voice, by the way. A distinctly trained sound.”
“That’s what I’ve been attending school for. Voice. Until recently I thought I might try opera.”
“Lofty ideals.”
“Indeed. But last semester ended all that silliness.” Her face fell and he couldn’t imagine what would stand between this woman and her dreams.
“How so?”
“Oh, you don’t want to hear about me.”
He leaned toward her, rubbed his hand along her arm and she didn’t pull away. “I’d like to hear all about you.”
She chewed the edge of her lip, offered him a please lean forward and kiss me again look, but immediately pulled back.
What was going on in that beautiful head of hers? “Listen, I didn’t mean to overstep my bounds.”
Her face shot doubts in his direction.
She lived far away and if he didn’t try, he’d lose this beautiful woman he’d come to respect and care about in just a short time. How that had happened, he didn’t know, but it had.
“Barbara, I need to tell you how I feel.”
Face forlorn, she pushed against him and rose from the swing.
He stood next to her. “What’s wrong?”
“Jackson. Since it’s unlikely we will ever see each other again, let me apprise you of my situation.”
Back to the games? He leaned against the porch rail and sucked air through his teeth. “Apprise me? You’re going to apprise me of your situation? What does that mean?” He chuckled.
She planted her feet as if her knees might give out. “It means you can stop flirting. I am engaged to be married to Elliott Grayville VanDusen, son of the New Castle VanDusens.” With a huff, she blew the bangs out of her eyes.
Laughter bubbled in his belly. “VanDusen? Is that a real name or one you made up?” His brow furrowed as his eyes slid to her finger. “So where’s your ring, future Mrs. VanDusen?”
Her lips pursed. “I’ll have you know, I’m getting the ring for Christmas. And yes, it most certainly is a real name. If you’ll excuse me.” She gritted her teeth and pushed past him toward the house.
He grabbed her arm. “Is that why you’ve given up your own dreams?”
She cleared her throat. “It’s none of your business. I want to be married. I can’t wait to be married. In a year and a half, I will be married to Elliott Grayville—”
“VanDusen.” A low whistle escaped his lips. “Oh,” he called out. “The New Castle VanDusens. My mistake.” Jackson curbed the rest of what he longed to say.
She hurried to the front door without looking back, but she did offer the last word. “Disdain, like my dreams, I can live without.”
She stomped through the door. He rifled fingers through his hair. But why should she have to give up her dreams? Just to marry a VanDusen?
* * *
In the morning, the adults stumbled to the parlor with sleep-filled eyes, and Barbara couldn’t help but notice how exhausted Mr. and Mrs. Judge appeared. Stockings hung by the fireplace for everyone, Barbara included, and she was encouraged by Betty’s incessant clapping to plunge her hand inside hers. Peanuts and oranges greeted her fingers and something small lay at the bottom in a piece of tissue paper. She drew her hand out. A beautiful silver pin, etched on one side with the tiniest stone in the middle. She was sure she had seen one just like it on top of Betty’s jewelry box when they had folded her clothes earlier, but she’d never be rude enough to ask.
Jackson sat unusually quiet. She’d hurt him. What did he expect? Declaring his love for her after one day? She was marrying Elliott. And that was that.
She glanced up as the Judges presented her parents with a twenty-five-pound bag of roasted peanuts to take home for their gift. Her father slapped his knee and said, “Say, but won’t our neighbors be jealous. Thank you so much.”
When most of the younger folks’ gifts had been opened—and there had been an excess—a small box found its way into Barbara’s hands.
“For you,” Betty whispered.
For Barbara from The Elves.
“What? Oh no. Christmas is for children.”
“Look around, we’re all children for the day.”
After some coaxing, Barbara pulled the
bow off, slid the paper aside and opened the gold box. Inside lay two silver and pearl combs. When she looked up, she thought she caught the slightest glint from Jackson’s eyes. She was convinced he knew who they were from. Probably Betty. Maybe they’d been intended for their grandmother making them all the more dear to her.
“I don’t know what to say.”
Jackson, long legs stretching, leaned back, his hands tucked behind his head. “I’ll bet that’s a first.”
“Jackson!” After his mother leveled the stern reproach, startling him, his chair slipped out from under him and he fell over backward.
Merry Christmas, Barbara.
Chapter 4
April 1942
Sound carried up the stairs. The radio. More bad news for the home front.
Barbara tilted her head to one side. Had she heard right? Another local boy dead? Chester Someone-or-other. The name sounded familiar. A boy she’d probably gone to school with.
The announcer repeated the name and realization dawned: Kathy Pennington’s younger brother. Why, he was just a kid. Freckle-faced Chester, the boy who had played the violin for the Ladies’ Sunday Tea.
She collapsed on her bed in tears. Poor Kathy. Barbara had to do something to help the war effort. The Women’s Auxiliary ran the USO. Said they didn’t think it appropriate for the young women being around strange men. And rolling bandages every other Saturday wasn’t enough.
She sucked in a life-renewing breath. Closing her door against the news, she escaped reality for a few minutes more while she glanced at the suitcases on her bed. For a month there would be nothing but Betty’s wedding. Happy times. Pleasant things to think about.
Folding the last sweater and plopping it into her bag led her one step nearer New Hope, Tennessee. Her case, almost full to the top, had just enough room for the wedding gift before latching the lid. She couldn’t wait to see Betty’s face when she opened the small box and found the matched Breitling watches her uncle had sent from Switzerland. She’d wanted a very special gift, since she and Betty had become best friends over the last year and a half through letters. Lots and lots of letters.
Lifting the top note from her drawer, she read, again, the opening line. Barbara, I have the best news. With a smile, she pictured Betty, hands clapping, dancing around, showing off her engagement ring. Just after Christmas, the letter had come inviting her to stand up as maid of honor. Once upon a time, she might have been asked as matron of honor. But Elliott Grayville VanDusen hadn’t been a firecracker like she had thought, but a dud, squelching her dreams one by one until the engagement was over.
With Eyes of Love (Heartsong Presents) Page 3
